


Damages Done

by makoredeyes



Category: Titanfall
Genre: Blood and Gore, Bromance, Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Platonic Love, Suicidal Thoughts, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-05-03 10:15:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14566827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makoredeyes/pseuds/makoredeyes
Summary: “Please do not be afraid. I have done the math,” BT went on, doing his best to reassure Jack. 	“It will be painful, but you will be alright.” Jack's expression darkened.“Easy for you to say,” he snarled despite himself. BT forgave him.Sometimes, things go wrong.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ya'll are gonna notice a LOT of familiar/recycled ideas in this one. I can't say I like that that's happened, but there ya go. Have a big hearty helping of hurt/comfort with gross emphasis on the hurt part, after me not posting anything for like...a year. Yay.

They hadn't seen a battle this messy since Typhon. Militia and IMC forces alike were taking heavy losses, leaving a muddy and smoldering battlefield stacked deep with bits of flesh and metal. Some of the pieces were recognizable, some weren't. Jack had decided to stop looking an hour ago. He couldn't see BT but he could feel his presence through the Neural Link, steely and determined, and that's all he needed to know about. He didn't want to recognize any of his brothers and sisters strewn in the mud. He could hear about them the easy way later.

"BT where are you?" Jack grimaced. His own voice sounded a lot more frightened than he'd wanted to allow. He was getting backed up against a half-demolished building, crumbling and groaning, by a pack of Stalkers. Ammo was at an all time low, and he was fairly certain he was about to get shot or beaten, or worse, crushed as the rest of the building looming overhead finally gave up the ghost.

" _I'm coming, Pilot,_ " BT's voice through his helmet was reassuring, but a shot of panic rose up into Jack's throat. If the Vanguard was anywhere even remotely close by, he would have specified as such. " _Easy, Jack,_ " BT added, noting his Pilot's rising and well-justified fear. " _That structure is stable and clear of additional targets. Take cover inside and try and string them out.”_

Jack nodded to himself, making a quick dash around a corner amid laser-fire from the Stalkers behind, finally spotting a stairwell leading up to a doorway as he did. Down below, the droids had just rounded the corner and spotted him once again, and had resumed their assault with gusto. A shot grazed his helmet as Jack turned to look, and he jumped back as his HUD lit with alerts, and and rubble rained down on him as part of the doorway overhead was destroyed by another shot. He kicked the door down with a shout and hurried inside.

" _Keep moving,"_ BT's voice was a low, soothing rumble in Jack's ear. " _I have the building in sight and your signature on scanners. Head straight through to the window marked on your HUD. I will be there."_

Jack turned, looking through the shockingly large and empty space of what must have at one time been a commercial offices facility, to a bank of blown-out windows at the far side. There was very little cover, save for the occasional support pillar, most of which had lost their outer facade and were little more than crumbling sheetrock and plaster around a much narrower structural beam.

Just outside the doorway Jack could hear heavy, mechanical footfalls and a staticy grumble of binary as the lead Stalker made its way up the stairs. Jack swore softly and, steeling himself, made a break through the vast room to the window on the far, far side.

His flight was immediately noticed, and he could hear the IMC drones hurry in and cluster up behind him. There was the barest pause before the laser fire began once more. All around him the floor, ceiling and support pillars were exploding in showers of rubble and dust but Jack kept moving, twisting and returning fire as best he could before he spent his last bullet. In a fit of desperate rage he even threw his now useless rifle at the pursuing bots, but they did not slow. A shot grazed his ankle, and Jack yelped, stumbling. It was nearly a miss, but oh how it burned like acid, and it was all Jack could do to keep moving. He'd seen what those L-STAR lasers could do to a man with a direct hit and even at a time like this he could think of a lot of ways he'd rather go than exploding into sausage.

He could no longer run but he hobbled at maximum speed, holding back the pain and bile in his mouth as he kept his eyes locked on the window now only a few dozen yards away. All around, the noise of the laserfire was getting louder and louder, the shots coming closer and closer to him with each hit. The pain in his ankle was almost unbearable, the burning sensation spreading all the way up to his hip, and he briefly contemplated just giving up and letting the Stalkers have him.

" _Keep moving, Jack,"_ BT encouraged. " _You are almost there, and I am just outside."_ On cue, the Titan's outline appeared through the wall on Jack's visor. He was poised with his cockpit doors ajar and his hands up and ready to swipe Jack away to safety. All he needed to do was jump. Jack watched the outline of BT's acolyte pods raise. " _Ready to supply cover fire as soon as you are clear."_

Jack groaned in pain as he picked up the pace, forcing himself into a trot and then, at the last few yards, a run. He gasped and cried, staggering, and pumped his arms hard to help propel himself, desperate. He took the leap, glad for the jumpkit as his legs alone would not have provided the power needed for him to actually clear the window. Airborne, and passing the threshold, he could finally see BT waiting below. Around him, the empty window frame was rapidly disintegrating as the drones redoubled their efforts. Looking out, he could see that the battlefield was nearly empty. He looked back down, reaching out to BT as he fell. He'd made it.

All at once, Hellfire seemed to erupt up his right arm. Jack screamed, and immediately turned his stomach out into his helmet. He fell roughly into BT's hands, crying out and rolling, clutching at his injured arm with his other hand, a curl of acrid smoke rising up from between his fingers.

"Jack!"

BT's horrified outburst was perhaps the worst part. Jack had never heard the Titan express such emotions before, and the robot's horror became his own. He only half-watched as the Vanguard retaliated, unleashing a barrage of missiles that demolished not only all of the dozen or so Stalkers perusing them, but half that side of the building as well.

Jack was still wailing in pain when the Titan turned on his toes and, stuffing Jack into his cockpit, fled.

Jack's vision swam, his arm throbbing as the Titan's hurried movements jarred him, and he heard BT's voice as if from far away, or over the noise of rushing water. " _We need to find cover. As far as I can tell, we are now all that is left of the Militia forces deployed. The IMC is not much better off, but we are still in danger. I have activated our emergency beacon, but it will take time for our allies to make it back to us._ " Jack tried to nod, his head lulling heavily over his shoulders. His thigh was wet, but his vision was too spotty to discern what was causing it.

Belatedly, he began to notice the sick splattered over the inside of his helmet and his face. Quite suddenly, the smell got to him, making him feel nauseous all over again, and he raised his shaking hands to remove it, but stopped short, gaping.  
  


A millisecond before Jack screamed, BT shuddered with a soft groan.  
  


He'd long ago seen what Jack, in his horrible pain, shock, and fear, had so far failed to notice.

The Pilot's right hand was _gone_. Several inches up his wrist, tattered flesh, skin and tendons hung limply from jagged bones oozing blood from the partially cauterized wound.

Jack was still screaming, his voice shill and broken as he clutched what remained of his forearm and shrieked in horror at the grotesque mess. BT stumbled, but kept running, determined to get them to safety, and get them there quickly.

  
  


Jack had emptied the last of the contents of his stomach, and sat shivering and dry heaving between sobs, morbidly transfixed on the mangled remains of his arm.

"B... BT...oh my God...BT.... BT I'm... Oh my _God_!" He rambled, crying to BT and to God and once or twice his mother, barely making any sense.

"Hang in there, Jack," BT moaned at last, voice low and sorry. "You are safe with me. As soon as we are clear of the area I will assist you, and the pain won't be so unbearable."

Jack hiccuped, coming out of his daze a little at the sound of his Titan's voice.

"BT..."

"We are almost there, Jack," BT went on, noticing the positive change. "We will tend to your wound and get you back home."

Jack moaned, his head drooping and bobbing as he struggled to hold it up.

"BT, I'm gonna..." His ears were ringing and his own voice sounded miles and miles away. His arm throbbed. He'd forgotten all about his ankle.

"Just relax Jack," BT said softly, his voice barely audible above the rushing noise in Jack's ears. "You are safe. I've got you."

Jack tried to nod, tried to answer, but all that he managed was a soft whimper before he finally blacked out.

  
  


It was a bad situation. Jack would recover, yes, but the trauma of his injury both physical and psychological, was severe. BT did not suspect the Pilot would be able to do much for himself in field dressing the wound, and while BT possessed the knowledge and clarity of mind to do so himself, he was poorly equipped to actually execute any of the necessary tasks himself. Furthermore, in his current condition, Jack's injury would need special attention before they even attempted to so much as bandage it.  
  


He knew what he needed to do, and he knew how he would achieve it, but he did not like it at all.

Jack was going to like it even less.

 

"Pilot Cooper..." BT gave Jack a gentle nudge with a single, massive fingertip. Jack had remained unconscious through the remainder of their retreat, even when BT had lifted him from the cockpit.

The Titan had taken them to a tiny meadow, shielded on all sides by dense forest, and laid the unconscious man out in the grass. He'd managed to cover Jack's injury with an emergency blanket and even, oh so carefully, managed to alleviate him of his soiled helmet. The man's face was a mess still, but there was nothing BT could do for him there, and there were more pressing matters at hand. "Jack please wake up, I need your assistance," BT shook Jack a little harder when he groaned but did not rouse immediately. Jack groaned again, grimaced, and finally opened his eyes, blinking slowly.

For a moment, he smiled sweetly up at the Titan looming over him, his mind trauma-addled enough that the day's events didn't dawn on him immediately and he had a few brief seconds of bliss. BT watched as his memory returned, however, the Pilot's face crumpling into a pained grimace. He looked over, to the right, his eyes widening when he realized that BT had covered his arm.

"BT, what...??" His voice was thin, already threatening the onset of shock once more.

"It's as you remember, Jack," BT said quietly. "Looking will only disturb you more." He hunkered down, optic dimming. "And I regret to say that it will get worse before it improves."

Jack was already getting paler by the second, and panic was beginning to rise.

“BT...?” Jack breathed. Maybe he already had an idea of where this was going.

“It was not a clean dismemberment,” BT said quietly, clear regret in his tone. “We need to clear away the excess tissue and cauterize the wound.”

Jack was shaking his head in horror, actually scooting back away from BT just a little. BT felt, with no small amount of disquiet, Jack's end of the Neural Link clamp shut, the Pilot closing himself off from his Titan.

“N-no...no more...” Jack whimpered, shaking his head again. BT sagged on his struts. He had intended to siphon off some of Jack's pain, as well as his fear, through the Link but worried that forcing his way back in to the man's mind would do more harm than good. Without his help, Jack would feel, and remember, everything.

“If I was able to come up with a better solution, I would have offered it, Jack.”

“No...Please no, BT...” Jack groaned, looking away. He was panting, terrified. BT shuddered again.

“Please Jack... You don't have to do it yourself, but I need your help. I don't have the dexterity to do it on my own,” BT plead, reaching out and laying the very tip of his finger over Jack's chest gently in his best facsimile of a caress. Jack sobbed, but was now looking pitifully back up into BT's optic, his expression resigned. It wasn't acquiescence. Jack just wasn't capable of it, but he wouldn't disobey BT either. BT moved the blanket aside and very gently nudged Jack's arm out away from his side until it was up over his head, within easy reach of Jack's good hand. “Get your knife, Jack,” BT all but whispered. “Hold it straight and strong in your hand and I'll position you.”

Jack obeyed, reaching up to the sheath on his chest and drawing his dataknife, his hand shaking terribly. He brought it up towards where his other wrist was with a soft sob, fat, frightened tears gushing out and soaking his face. BT watched, unblinking, knowing that what he was about to make Jack do could very well damage their bond beyond repair. Unhappiness niggled. Dissatisfaction with what he was, what he was built for, made his protocols buck and sting, his unshakable resolve rattled. It took far more processing power to keep his iron will in place than he cared for. Another unhappy first.

Resolutely putting his misgivings aside, BT reached out and wiggled his finger under Jack's injured arm, and used his thumb to position the blade over the far edge of the wound, carefully positioning the massive digit so that it rested over the back of the blade but was clear of the hand gripping it. “I will have to pick you up and move very quickly in order to prevent excessive blood loss,” BT warned. Jack nodded, staring up at BT with wide, fearful eyes. “Please do not be afraid. I have done the math,” He went on, doing his best to reassure Jack. “It will be painful, but you will be alright.” Jack's expression darkened.

“Easy for you to say,” he snarled despite himself. BT forgave him.

“No,” BT groaned. “I feel it too. I feel all of it, Jack.”

He pressed his thumb and forefinger together, swiftly and effortlessly driving the blade through tattered flesh and bone as he cut the wound clean.

  
  


Jack's shriek of pain was guttural and dire, the Pilot thrashing in torment even as BT quickly snatched him up off the ground. Jack continued to fight BT's grip, kicking and screaming, blind with agony. BT held fast and raised him up to his shoulder, within easy reach of his boosters.

“Extend your arm, Jack!” BT commanded. There was a lot of blood. He needed to move quick. Jack, however, was out of his mind and only continued to howl and fight feebly. “Jack. _JACK!”_ He finally barked the command, his voice booming, and Jack instantly subsided with a whimper. “Press it flat on the booster exhaust,” BT ordered, hating that he had to talk to his friend this way. “If you can't do it then just extend your arm and I will assist you, but we need to act quickly.”

Jack reached out, but faltered, shaking in BT's gentle grip.

“I can't...” He barely whispered the words. BT wished he could.

“It's alright... teeth together, eyes shut,” BT said gently. “Brace yourself.”

He stamped the stump of Jack's arm flat against the exhaust end of the booster, the metal barely cooler than red-hot after his run, and held it. Jack didn't scream this time, bravely keeping his arm extended and not recoiling from the searing heat. Instead he merely groaned, heaving emptily and sagging over BT's knuckles as he finally pulled the pilot away. Jack coughed and sobbed, the smell of burnt flesh and smoke gagging him. BT brought the poor man up close, gazing sadly down at his work. Jack had his arm clutched against his chest with his good hand, and his head was bowed low. His shoulders shook.

“Oh Jack...” BT had always kept the level of empathy the Neural Link allowed him under tight wraps, unwilling, after all they had suffered on Typhon, to let Jack realize that he felt his Pilot's fears, and his pain, as acutely as Jack himself did. Now, however, things were far worse for Jack than they'd ever been and the Titan understood that what Jack needed most was that very empathy BT had hidden so well, and so he lifted the veil, letting some of the pain and sadness modulate into his voice. “I'm so sorry, Jack...”

He adjusted his ward so that Jack was cradled in both of his palms, and the Pilot rolled to present his back to BT, curling up.

“Let me see?” BT asked. He needed to confirm that they'd done it correctly, that Jack was no longer bleeding out. Jack did not move.

“It's fine,” he said softly. BT did not press the matter, instead running a passive scan of the Pilot to confirm that his blood pressure, pulse, and breathing were indeed stabilizing once more.

“I believe you,” BT said, his tone just as quiet. Jack said nothing, and BT watched him shake and quiver as he sobbed silently to himself. He waited a few minutes, then, very very carefully, nudged at the block in the Link. “Let me in... I can siphon some of the pain away,” he said. It was not a command, but a plea. BT felt their connection waver, then tighten down even further.

“No... you'll feel it...” Jack choked the words out, shaking harder.

“Yes,” BT admitted. He pressed against the Link again, feather soft but persistent. “Witnessing your pain hurts no less, Jack,” he added. Jack balled up tighter and he relented. “But... as an alternative, there are analgesics in the first aid kit under the seat in my cockpit.” BT opened up, bringing his hands up to the threshold so that Jack could reach inside as easily as possible. “I recommend you bandage the wound also. However, I am afraid I lack the dexterity to assist you with these tasks.”

He watched Jack sit up slowly, observing his sallow, tear-soaked face in bitter resignation, but the Pilot moved no further. He could, at least, now see the injury and confirm that it was as tidy and secure as they could have managed given the circumstances.

Jack was still seated upright and swaying in BT's palm when the Titan's scanners picked up the first unfriendly target. BT straightened up, acolytes up and optics swiveling rapidly as he did a more thorough search of the area.

“Shit.” He was already moving, hurrying away from the signals as he somewhat unceremoniously stuffed Jack into the cockpit and closed up.

  
  


Jack yelped, the sudden movement as painful as it was alarming, not to mention BT's very un-BT like curse. He'd never heard the Titan swear, though he had once confirmed that he knew and understood the literal meanings as well as the connotations of a broad array of uncouth words in several popular languages.

“BT?! What's going on?”

“IMC drones have tracked us to our location,” BT replied, and Jack swore he sounded annoyed.

“I can't fight, BT,” Jack warned, tense. He was also blind to what was happening outside without the benefit of his helmet, or the Neural Link which he still kept resolutely shut tight.

“Acknowledged. I can handle it.” There was a pause. “Nine targets...” He backed away to the far edge of the clearing, and crouched down low with the treeline. Jack held his breath. “Eight Stalkers,” Jack shook, groaning. He didn't want to see any more of those awful things...ever, honestly, but certainly not today. His heart was thumping hard in his chest. “And one Reaper.” BT's stance shifted as he raised his chaingun to the ready. “Easy Jack,” he assured softly, not needing the still closed Neural Link to detect Jack's well-founded anxiety. “Missile-pods fully loaded and ready...” In moments, the first squad of Stalkers appeared, the Reaper following close behind. “Targets locked,” BT narrated. There was a pause, and a series of explosions. “Targets eliminated,” BT announced a second later. “More incoming... Do not worry, Pilot,” He added. Jack could hear the beeping of multiple locks being acquired, but then BT paused. “Hmm.”

“What?” Jack sat up a little, concerned.

“I have an idea.” There was another beep as the locks were released, and now the hissing patter of laser-fire striking harmlessly against BT's shields could be heard. Again more locks, a series of booms and then BT was dashing forward, ducking low and seeming to swing with his free hand. “Three targets destroyed. Remaining target apprehended and disarmed.”

“What?!” Jack cried, but then immediately cringed back into the seat, whimpering as a fresh wash of pain struck him. There was enough adrenaline pumping in him now that he finally found the gumption to search around under the seat for the medkit as he spoke. He found the autoinjector, thumping it into his thigh and sighing as the painkillers started to take effect almost instantly. Very quietly, BT seemed to sigh as well.

“I have an idea,” BT repeated. “I need your assistance once more.” There was another long, telling pause. “You might not like it.”

Jack wasn't sure that's what he wanted to hear, but at least BT was being up front.

“What-”

“I have captured an IMC Stalker,” BT said, his tone flat and blunt. “I require your assistance in overriding it's programming.” BT popped the cockpit doors, revealing the drone he had caught from behind suspended in one hand. It was struggling feebly in his grip and bleating out in binary, but seemed well and truly stuck. Its head swiveled, but was unable to turn enough to bring BT or Jack into view.

Jack hissed, pushing back into his seat.

“I've had enough of these guys already, BT,” he said firmly. He was a little ticked that BT had the nerve to present one to him after what he'd just been through, but the fear still outweighed the anger.

BT had gone back to where he'd originally laid Jack in the grass, his abandoned dataknife glinting in the afternoon sunlight.

“It cannot hurt you, Jack,” BT asserted. “And if you are unsuccessful, I will crush it...or help you tear its head off, if it helps,” he offered. “But I believe we can utilize its frame to our advantage.”

“You what?!” He was sure repeating himself a lot.

“I believe, with your assistance, I can commandeer this frame for my own use, allowing me the finer dexterity and motor functions required to complete your first aid and provide other assistance in light of your injury until the fleet is able to return and collect us.”

Jack fell silent, mulling BT's plan over in his head. He didn't like it. He didn't want to think about BT being in one of those _things,_ didn't want to contemplate what would happen if something went wrong. He didn't want to face his injury, either. He stared down at the knife in the grass, its brightly lit blade speckled in red- his own blood. He didn't want any of this, but here they were. He felt like he might be sick again.

“Let me in,” BT whispered, when Jack didn't respond. He was nudging at the back of Jack's mind again, gentle as butterfly kisses, but Jack just couldn't bring himself to open up for the Titan. He didn't even know how he'd so firmly closed him off in the first place, and now it seemed stuck. It hurt.

“I c-can't,” Jack breathed. “I want to but...” The more he thought about it, the more upsetting it was, and he felt his chest going tight, his breathing coming ragged. The knife was still winking at him. He wanted to scream but his throat hurt. “BT I... I ...”

“Shh...It's alright, Jack,” BT assured him softly, his tone unbearably gentle. When had he gotten so much inflection in his voice? Had it always been that way and Jack simply had never noticed? He didn't think so. “I've already asked far too much of you today,” he was going on, and Jack definitely wasn't imagining it. He could hear regret, sorrow...and something that sounded like heartache.

“BT?”

“If today's events cause irreparable harm to our bond, it will be a regrettable but worthy sacrifice in exchange for your survival, Jack.” Jack's heart clenched, making him grit his teeth and bow his head as he listened. “I will understand completely if you are unable to ever lay your trust fully with me ever again, but please, for one more day, try. I have put you through terrible things, brought you great pain, but it is all in an attempt to see to it that you make it home alive and as well as possible. I-”

“BT stop.” Jack's low voice shook. His body shook as well, as he attempted to stand, his knees knocking. He felt awful. BT fell silent. “Help me down,” Jack said, stepping carefully to the threshold and looking down. BT reached up without another word and curled his fingers around Jack's middle slowly, lifting him clear of the cockpit and gently setting him down on his feet in the grass with the same delicacy one might handled a slightly cracked egg. Jack staggered over to the knife, and when he felt like he might lose his balance from bending over, knelt instead. Twice, he tried to reach for it with his right hand, the action making his head spin and his stomach roll as he was forced to acknowledge _it wasn't there_. He struggled back to his feet, fighting not to brace his nonexistent hand on the ground to help lever himself up, and turned back to BT. “Let's see it,” he gestured with the knife at the still struggling Spectre. BT took the single step needed to close the distance between he and Jack, and crouched down low, holding the bot at an angle for easy access.

Jack stared at the struggling thing in BT's hand, then turned his eyes up to BT. He could see his normally vibrant optic had gone dim and pale, and frowned. He wasn't sure what he thought of what BT had said. Thinking on it too hard made his chest ache. Everything hurt. BT blinked at him, then looked away. Yes, Jack thought unhappily, there might have been damage done. BT meant the world to him, but he'd never forget the sensation of driving a knife through his own body. He sniffed, shaking down the memory, and resolutely stuffed the dataknife into the socket at the back of the Spectre's head with a grunt. He couldn't decide if he blamed BT for what had been done or not. He stepped back a half step, watching the drone go limp as the knife did its work hacking its systems, the indicator finally switching from amber to blue.

BT let out an almost inaudible rumble, and reached over the top of Jack with his free hand, startling the Pilot. Jack swiveled quickly, wincing as his ankle began to sting again, but then settled back down with a grimace. He watched as BT prodded at a panel at the back of the Stalker.

“See if you can pry that open?” The request was passive, a plea. BT seemed to have truly decided he would demand no more of Jack. Jack withdrew his knife from the metal body, and used the blade to pop the panel open without a word. “Good, it will work,” BT said, seemingly to himself. “That is its Datacore, there.” Seated in the center of the square panel was a cylinder, a ring of blue light mirroring the indication he'd seen on the dataknife. “It should pull out with little to no resistance. Once it is free I will eject my own Datacore and you can install me there. We won't be able to close the panel with my optical array protruding but the setting is the same.” Jack pulled the core from the Spectre, chucking it aside hatefully, but then hesitated. “My chassis will still be able to operate as an Auto-Titan to provide us additional protection,” BT added thoughtfully.

Jack sighed. He really, really didn't think he wanted to see BT in one of those things.

“Maybe we should move first?” He offered, wanting to stall. “I'm sure it was sending out a distress signal.”

BT nodded.

“Agreed.” He straightened up, taking another step to collect Jack's abandoned helmet, and the blanket, and making a point to crush the cast away Datacore with one foot as he did so. Stowing those items, he reached out, his massive hand low and open-palmed, to Jack in invitation. His other hand still clutched the dark, lifeless robot they had just partially dismantled.

Jack stepped up, wobbling, and quickly sat to keep from falling. He swallowed hard, watching his friend's grayed optic. A lump formed in his throat. He was being an asshole.

“It's... it's not you, BT,” he said softly. “I'm... I'm not mad, I don't blame you.. not _really._ I'm just...” He stared down at his stump of an arm, bile rising up into his throat as he looked at it. He coughed, choking it back down with a shake. He gasped for air, fumbling for words as his world started to swim again. BT deposited him back into the cockpit and closed up.

“I understand,” BT said, relieving him of the obligation to finish.

“I don't know why the Link won't work any more,” Jack started again, even quieter as he sank into the seat, pulling the blanket up onto himself. It was surprisingly hard, one-handed. Misery grew heavier on his shoulders.

“I'll explain it when you're well again,” BT said. “I can force it open, but I fear the process will cause you more undue distress.”

Jack sagged. BT's absence from his mind was something he'd once swore he'd never endure again, and here, he'd gone and kicked him out himself. He would have never, ever dared if he'd known it would be so hard to open back up again.

“I don't think I'd be able to feel anything else right now anyway, BT,” he whispered. Jack clutched at the blanket as BT swayed into motion, breaking into a run once more. They must have gone at least a kilometer or two before the Vanguard spoke up again.

“Lets get somewhere safe with this thing, and then we will see if you are up to reinstating neural access.” Jack nodded, feeling defeated.

“Okay.”

  
  


  
  


This time, they ran for hours. BT had nearly completely worn down a battery before he finally stopped as the first alert pinged him. With time, it would recharge itself as long as wasn't completely spent, and the others remained strong, but it would not do to push his luck.

“Battery low,” he announced. “Scanning the area for potential hazards and suitable shelter.” It was well past sunset, the wilderness they had fled into dark and remote. BT channeled a little bit of spare power into boosting his emergency beacon. He hoped the Militia was listening.

  
  


Within him, Jack shifted somewhat with a tiny groan. His Pilot had fallen into a broody, exhausted silence, dazedly dozing in and out without comment. The Neural Link had opened up slightly on its own as Jack relaxed just a little, but there was still no reaching the Pilot's mind gently. It didn't take a mind reader, however, to show BT that the pain killers were wearing off. Jacks biometrics were slowly rising out of their normal ranges as he grew increasingly uncomfortable.

He quickly found a small clearing at the base of an outcropping of rock, and, setting the Stalker down into a seated position, squatted down low to park himself. He lit the floodlight mounted on one shoulder, cutting a bright swath through the darkness, and opened the cockpit doors for Jack, rousing the Pilot from his thoughts.

“Come on out, my friend,” he rumbled, sympathetic. Jack staggered out, puffy eyed and pale and swaying on his feet, and BT helped him down to the ground. Jack's face had gone almost ghoulish from the mix of deep shadows making his face look particularly gaunt, and bright, white light from BT's chassis washing away the last vestiges of color in his already blanched complexion. The Titan had the sudden impression that Jack likely looked how he felt, like this.

“Switch me into this frame and I'll see to bandaging that and administering additional pain relief,” He said, deciding not to point any of his observations out. Jack had enough problems without BT telling him he looked like the walking dead.

Jack nodded almost robotically, his mind numb from a day of agony, and stumbled over to BT, raising both arms towards his sensor array before dropping his useless right arm dejectedly.

“You will be fitted with a prosthetic built by the Militia's finest engineers, Jack,” BT reassured, noting Jack's particularly glum expression. “And be able to continue your life normally. You and I will simply have just a little bit more in common,” he added, a tentative smile in his voice.

Jack snorted out a feeble, humorless little laugh.

“Well there's something,” he mumbled. He chewed his lip a moment, before asking, “BT what happens if I decide to retire when we get home?”

If BT were human, he supposed he might have screamed. Or cried.

“You retire. And hopefully live out a full and happy life somewhere safe from the war,” he said instead. Not wanting to discuss it further, he quickly sank down into easy reach, and ejected his Datacore.

Though he was deaf and mute like this, he was able to watch Jack reach up one-handed and carefully extract him from his chassis and limp over to the Stalker frame sat crumpled against a boulder. It took Jack some fumbling to juggle BT into the crook of his right elbow as he got the access panel opened back up, and there was some jostling as he struggled just a little to get the pins aligned left-handed, but eventually he got BT installed into the much smaller frame without undue difficulty.

It took BT longer than normal to boot back through the unfamiliar systems, synchronizing and adjusting to the somewhat different base programming. When his ocular feed finally reinitialized, Jack was standing nearby, well out of reach, looking terribly worried. BT blinked at him benignly, and did not move immediately.

“Transfer, successful,” he announced, his familiar baritone rasping a little from inferior vocal modulators. “This is a charming view of you, Jack,” he went on when Jack still looked terribly nervous. “I only wish this opportunity came under less dire circumstances.”

Jack offered a hesitant smile, and inched forward.

“BT...?”

“Yes,” BT assured warmly, slowly climbing to his feet. He still towered over Jack, he realized. The man had a slight build to begin with, and while man-shaped, the Stalkers were built with an intentionally intimidating height advantage. He supposed if Jack's friendly countenance had looked ghostly in the hard contrast of light and shadows, then he had to look downright monstrous. He stayed put, letting Jack come to terms with his appearance and approach him in his own time. “I will be happy to prove it to you in whatever manner you deem fit,” he added. Some of the tension left Jack's shoulders, and he shook his head, edging forward several steps.

“No...it's fine...I...I trust you, BT.”

Sweet, effervescent relief flooded BT at the words, and one of the dark, awful little fears festering in the back of his processor withered and died suddenly. He visibly sagged just little from it, making Jack blink.

“Thank you, Jack,” he said earnestly. He turned, taking two cautious steps as he recalibrated his balance, and then strode away from Jack back to his own chassis to pull the cockpit open. He was pragmatic enough not to be troubled by rooting around in what was essentially his own body, and knowledgeable enough of his own construction that he was able to find the medical kit without trouble even in the dark, but behind him, Jack let out a wry little grunt.

“Oh, that's got to be weird,” he said with a chuckle. It was the most relaxed, the most _Jack-like_ he had sounded all day, and BT flickered happily as he clambered back out, turning to face him.

“Perhaps, but we've had stranger, haven't we?” He moved slowly as he approached Jack, conscious of the fact that his current form genuinely terrified his friend, and that the dichotomy of friend and foe he currently offered would unnerve nearly anyone. As expected, Jack took two unconscious steps backward before he halted, locking his knees and holding his ground. His eyes remained wild and fearful, however, and his voice shook as he attempted an equally light reply.

“Y-yeah we have.”

BT arrived at his side and promptly sat himself on the ground, looking up at Jack.

“Have a seat?” He patted the leaf-littered earth at his side in invitation.

Jack hesitated, staring down at him for a long moment before nodding, and sinking first to his knees, and then finally down to his rump. He groaned, peeling his wide-eyed attention away from BT to finally pull up his pant leg and have a look at the burn through his boot, the skin visible beneath scorched and red. BT leaned over to look, making an appropriately sympathetic sound. A few more millimeters and he would have lost tendons and maybe even bone, but as luck would have it, only the surface had been burned, and though it stung something awful, it would heal easily.

“Biogel,” BT said, returning his attention to the medkit in his hands and popping it open resolutely. He pulled out a packet, silently marveling at how dexterous his new hands and fingers were as he tore it open. His fingertips were padded, and rife with sensors to allow for easy and accurate gripping, and he was able to pluck out a clean swab from the kit and apply the gel first to it, and then, once Jack had pulled his boot away, to his Pilot's injured leg without trouble.

“Was there ever,” BT spoke softly as he cleaned and treated the burn, flossing out his thoughts as they came, “a time in your life where you realized that you'd been missing something the whole time, and suddenly can't imagine how you could go on without it?” He liked being able to sit at Jack's side, liked being about to reach out and touch him, being able to _help_ him, on an intimate, human level; to look him straight in the eyes if he wished. He wasn't sure he ever wanted to go back to his hulking, clumsy and numb chassis. He wondered if Jack understood what he meant.

“Yeah,” Jack said with a taut voice before BT could attempt to clarify, “You.”

BT was just pulling open the seal on a bandage, and paused as he processed Jack's words. Belatedly, he continued moving, freeing the adhesive backings and carefully applying it over the worst of the burn.

“I'm so terribly sorry, Jack,” BT said softly, “for hurting you like I have.” He couldn't rightly say that Jack's words surprised him, but there was something particularly striking about hearing it.

“You didn't hurt me, BT,” Jack said tiredly, carefully folding his leg in to sit cross-legged once BT was finished. “I was injured in battle. You did what you had to. I understand.”

Neural Links didn't close themselves off on accident. BT wouldn't tell Jack this, but he knew that the deepest animal-instinct parts of the Pilot had responded to what was perceived as the greatest threat, and it had been BT. He couldn't bear to tell Jack that. Not yet.

“Thank you,” he said instead. He pulled out a sizable roll of gauze, unraveling a dozen or so inches out of it. He laid it into his lap, at the ready, and opened another packet of biogel. A fresh swab loaded, he gestured to Jack's arm. Jack grimaced, but extended his right arm willingly. BT carefully gripped the forearm gently, supporting it as he treated the wound, not missing the pained little hisses escaping Jack, or how his remaining hand bunched into a fist at his side. “I apologize for not being more gentle,” BT said. Jack simply grunted.

“It just hurts. I don't think anyone else could do any better,” Jack said. He was looking away, refusing to watch. BT didn't blame him. It was an ugly mess.

“Your vote of confidence is encouraging,” he said. He set to work padding the wound with some little gauze sheets he'd found, and then wrapped it thick with the rolled gauze, then again with sturdier bandaging until there was a cushy club capping Jack's wrist. “There,” he said at last, gently laying Jack's arm into his lap. Jack pulled back, cradling it against his chest with his other arm, and blew out a shaky, spent sigh.

“Would you like a sedative as well?” BT offered, loading up an autoinjector with the maximum dosage of painkillers. Jack shook his head.

“No...I hate that feeling.” BT nodded again.

“Where was the last injection?” He asked, watching as Jack pointed to a spot high on his left thigh. He knew there would be a nasty bruise there, and intended to avoid it. “Other leg?” He offered, and Jack shrugged.

“Sure.”

BT pressed the injector to the top of the leg closest to him, the shot going clean through his flight suit with a hiss and a pop. Jack flinched, gritting his teeth, but then sighed in relief almost immediately after.

“Thank God...” he breathed, drooping where he sat. He continued to sag, gradually pitching to the side until his shoulder pressed up against BT's, his bandaged arm dangling limply between them, and laid his head against his friend tiredly.

BT let out an electronic chirp of surprise, but did not move, letting his friend rest. Jack went still, but didn't sleep. Despite this, BT detected his pulse finally slowing as the worst of both his pain and anxiety subsided, and his breathing evened out of it's pained hitching. He could feel the Neural Link waver, and supposed that perhaps Jack was trying to break back through on his own. Several long minutes passed in total silence before Jack spoke up.

“Help me with this, BT,” he said, voice tense again. “I- I don't care if it hurts. It's too empty. I know you're right there, but I feel so alone right now...” His voice broke, tears threatening.

“Alright,” BT said quickly, turning to gently pull Jack between his bent knees and tucking him against his chestplates where he could support him better. Jack shook, ducking his head down and hunching his shoulders as he turned his back to the world. The sight made something deep within BT seem to ache. Poor sweet, noble and brave Jack, always getting dealt fate's worst cards. It tore him up to consider being separated from Jack for good, but he hoped, for his sake, that the Pilot did indeed decide to retire. He'd had more than his share of hardship.

Quickly, BT filed away his own feelings, stashing them away where Jack would be safe from them. Only then did he reach down the crumpled and jagged Neural Link, carefully pushing through the rubble of their shaken bond. Jack whimpered, shuddering, but said nothing more. BT could feel him submitting to his steady press, practically inviting him, and finally, with a sudden rush, the last of the barrier gave and BT was gliding back into his slot in Jack's mind with a relieved little groan. Jack gasped, and started to shake, and BT bent forward, curling around the smaller figure and folding his arms around his shoulders in a loose embrace.

“Easy, Jack,” he cooed. “You're safe. It's alright.” Jack nodded against his chest with a hiccup. His mind was a tousled, chaotic mess and BT set straight to work soothing the aches and the worries, methodically setting the furniture of a ransacked house back upright as he perused the damage sadly. Jack began to sob softly, and BT let him vent out the jumbled unhappy mess of emotion at his leisure, simply rubbing his back in slow, soothing circles as he waited for the storm to pass.

  
  


  
  


An hour passed. Jack finally cried himself out, and now he sat curled against the metallic body, dried up and spent. The throbbing had stopped, and though his eyes ached, his heart felt comfortably numb, and he was exhausted enough that his mind had stopped racing. He could feel BT lurking on the edge of his consciousness, watchful for the unfounded fears and niggling worries that assailed him, snuffing them almost before they started. Doubts were met with confidence, the aches countered with little bursts of cloud-like bliss, the Titan unabashedly manipulating Jack's neural pathways to ease the worst of his troubles. He wished he'd allowed the Vanguard to help him sooner.

BT's concern, it turned out, had been unfounded. The demolition of the accidental blockade between them had been uncomfortable and invasive, but had proven to be nothing more than a tickle compared to what he'd already suffered that day. He sighed, shifting for the first time. He grit his teeth as he immediately got pins and needles in his feet and legs. In moments, however, that too was abolished thanks to BT.

“You should sleep,” BT said. “We can switch back to my chassis if you'd like to be somewhere sheltered.”

“I'd rather stay here,” Jack mumbled. He leaned in, pressing his cheek against one of the curved panels between BT's chest and shoulder for emphasis. He needed to be as close as he could get, right now, and he even tugged a little on BT's presence in his mind, pulling him deeper into himself. BT's loose embrace reflexively tightened just a little. BT was silent, but Jack could hear the little click-whirs of his processor taching up as he thought hard on something. Jack tugged a little harder on the Link, suddenly curious as to just how far in he could see. To his surprise, BT immediately opened up like a window, letting Jack in.

In short, he didn't want to let go of Jack, either.

“Here,” BT said after a moment, carefully arranging Jack against him and lifting him effortlessly. “A compromise.” He stood, the Stalker frame powerful enough to carry Jack's weight without jeopardizing balance, and carried him back to his Chassis. Jack lay limp in BT's arms, trusting that he would be supported without fail. A deep knee bend, and a little grunt of binary preceded the jump just enough that Jack wasn't startled when BT took a mighty leap up into the still open cockpit, ducking down and taking the half-step inside. He turned and seated himself with Jack still cradled against his chest, and, with a little help from the Pilot, had Jack happily settled in his lap moments later. Jack sighed, melting back down comfortably and leaning in when the arm that had been unwaveringly wound across his back tightened slightly. He smiled to himself a little as BT searched around one-handed for a moment before dragging the blanket back up, draping it over Jack's back and shoulders. Jack, still toying with his control of the Neural Link, sent BT a little packet of happy gratitude, and he couldn't help but grin a little as the bot paused tellingly halfway through pulling the blanket up. BT said nothing, but after a moment, he replied in kind with a little nudge of affection...and relief.

Jack's breath caught, not expecting a genuine emotional response from the Titan. His surprise was unchecked, and, shifting just a little, BT let out a little sound of confirmation.

“Yuh-huh,” he said softly. With that, he lifted his hand from Jack just long enough to reach out to the control panel at his side and mash a single button. As the cockpit doors closed themselves, the floodlights outside flickered out and they were cast into darkness broken only by the soft blue glow of BT's optic. Jack's mind was starting to whirl again, even as he let out a shaky, relieved sigh as BT pulled him in tight against his body. As he thought more and more on what BT had just revealed of himself, Jack found sleep galloping farther and farther away with his rising heart rate until finally, BT intervened.

_Please sleep,_ the Titan's voice rang clear in his head, making Jack gasp. _It is against protocol to meddle so with a Pilot's mind, but you absolutely need to rest, my friend._ Jack felt his thoughts somehow start to slow and grow muddy, and his eyes drooped. _I won't take anything from you Pilot,_ BT went on, _I am merely pausing you so that you may rest now...and worry later._ There was warmth to his tone, and while Jack thought that maybe he should be outraged that the Titan was forcibly halting his thoughts and luring him into slumber, in truth, he only felt relief. He sighed, letting his eyes drift shut and nuzzled in against the metal body under him slightly. _Thank you_ , he thought, wondering if he was doing it right, if BT heard him.

BT dropped his wedge-shaped head down over the top of Jack's with another little electronic chirp, giving Jack a tender squeeze. He'd heard.

  
  
  


 


	2. They're fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BT was beginning to worry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I've updated the tags. If you're sensitive to mentions of things like death and suicide, you might want to proceed cautiously.
> 
> And, as always, huge super sparkly rainbow thanks to Kieran who constantly labors to try and drag me up to his level of writing, and who is always reliably there to proof-read for me and field ideas and inspiration, not to mention is absolutely bomb in the emotional support department. You rock dude.

* * *

* * *

 

 

For a while, it was good. BT had ensured that Jack slept all through the night, and well into the morning, the Titan's presence weighted down over his mind like an oversized blanket, and Jack had been given the luxury of waking slowly. He was still curled against his friend's borrowed frame, BT cradling him close, and his mind was hazed over sweetly as the AI continued to actively block out anything that troubled him, replacing any disquiet with warmth like sunshine. Jack basked in it, enjoying the vague sense of happiness and the muddiness of his lazily drifting thoughts. He'd never felt so safe, so secure in his life as he did now while BT adamantly guarded him from everything...including himself. It was...heaven.

Alas, reality beckoned.

 _I'm sorry, Pilot..._ BT's voice in his head was soft, the Titan addressing him with the same kind of tender gentleness with which one might awaken a child. _I cannot keep you like this._

Jack understood. He almost fought it, almost begged for more. The prospect of eternal sunshine was tempting, but BT had probably already meddled far more than he ought to have, and Jack, even in his current state of disconnect, was aware of the potential to wither away. That too, oddly, felt tempting - to fade away into the bright light of bliss rather than perishing some other, horrible way later. No. _No._ It would break BT's heart if he even thought about it too long.

He drew in a long breath, trying to halt his darkening thoughts himself as BT gradually relinquished control. He did not, however, withdraw to his little corner of Jack's mind where he usually remained, instead remaining close, as if standing at his shoulder. As the pain slowly seeped back into his awareness, his worn-out and starved body starting to shake with exhaustion, Jack gathered up BT's steadfast and reassuring presence and pulled it in a little closer. For a while longer, he sat like this, letting his mind and body readjust to reality, taking the aches and the worries in stride as he leaned against the figure holding him.

 

When BT finally moved, it was preceded with a quiet but distinct grumble. Jack let him arrange him into a more upright position without a fuss, but grimaced when the Titan said, "You need to eat." Jack huffed as he considered arguing. His stomach was still a rolling, unhappy mess, and emergency rations weren't exactly his favorite. He wasn't sure he could keep it down, and was disinclined to try. BT grumbled again, sensing Jack's dissent, and sat the Pilot further up as he leaned over and fished out a package from the cargo area behind the seat. "I'll force you if I have to," he warned darkly. "While your comfort is a high priority, your survival rates higher." He brought the package in front of Jack, working around him so he could reach with both hands without relinquishing his hold on him to snap it open with a crisp tug.

Jack watched the seemingly effortless gesture somewhat bitterly. He supposed he could use his teeth to have torn it open himself, but it was all too easy to take for granted all the tasks that required two hands.

“Don't let it get to you, Pilot,” BT murmured, presenting the opened ration to him. “Your handicap is only a temporary inconvenience that will be resolved as soon as we rendezvous with the rest of the fleet.”

When exactly would that be, anyway?

 

“Have you gotten any response yet?” Jack asked, tentatively taking a small bite and then wrinkling his nose.

“Not yet, no,” BT replied somberly. Jack flinched as a hot shot of bile geysered up his throat as soon as he'd swallowed. He forced it down with a shudder.  His arm ached. His leg stung. “It's only been twenty-seven hours since we first landed.” Jack sighed, nodding. He wanted to go home.

“I guess so.”

“They will come, Jack. There's no need to worry,” BT said firmly, simultaneously hugging him and nudging his elbow to encourage another bite.

It hadn’t taken long for Jack to abandon his attempted meal, but despite his worn-out state, he held onto consciousness late into morning.  Now that he recognized the depth of his bond with BT, as well as the depth of BT himself, Jack proved motivated to know his Titan better. He visibly fought against his pain and his fear to try and hold a normal conversation. It was mildly alarming, but also delightful. BT liked talking casually with Jack, and had enjoyed the hour or so of little nothings. They shared hopes, dreams, memories.  Pleasant, beautiful things kept Jack alert and in fairly good spirits for a time. He worked hard to steer conversation clear of worries, of their current predicament, for as long as he could but eventually, it had drifted to less happy topics nonetheless.

“Would you allow me to assist in designing a prosthetic for you?” BT had asked, hoping to put a brighter spin on the hard truth as Jack had drifted from the conversation, finally too distracted by the pain and the ugliness of the bandaged stump of his clubbed arm to focus on more frivolous topics.  He had refused BT’s offer for his last dose of painkillers, even though BT knew Jack was in nearly unbearable discomfort. The Titan hung close in Jack’s mind, searching for a glimmer of interest, or some other positive response, but instead what he saw was Jack slowly sliding into despair.

“Sure,” Jack sighed.  He was tired, in pain, and rightfully embittered, BT could tell, but the Titan had the growing concern that Jack’s despondent attitude was a warning of something worse.

“They can create something perfectly passable as human,” BT went on, valiantly trying to bring the topic back to a positive.  “But perhaps...matching paint instead?” Jack had teased him once about his vanity, BT complaining repeatedly about ‘old paint’ after Typhon, until his chassis had been rebuilt and, much later, repainted in his original livery.  Jack didn’t so much as chuckle. “Or perhaps we can match this side,” BT tried again, touching the partially exposed tattoo on Jack’s left arm. The Vanguard considered himself fortunate that he had the pre-programmed knowledge to be able to read the image for what it was: a star map to Jack’s home, but also... _alive_ enough to appreciate the artistic value, as well as the sentiment.  He had a habit of pointing it out when Jack was down, knowing that it would invoke thoughts of his childhood home and his family. He brought his hand up Jack’s arm to over his heart where he knew the intricate red and black ley lines terminated, giving him a gentle squeeze.

“I’ll have to think about it,” the Pilot said, his tone flat and mildly dismissive. BT resisted the urge to modulate a deliberate facsimile of a sigh of defeat.  “But...not right now, alright?” He could feel Jack curling up on himself mentally, pulling away and seeming to smother what little sparkles of vivacity he had left. The void was pulling him, and BT didn’t know what to do to pull back.

“I understand,” He had said instead, and Jack had simply nodded and gone quiet, eventually dozing off in BT’s arms.

 

BT was getting worried.

 

Their second night in the wilderness was well on its way, and still there was no indication that the Militia had received his SOS.  That morning, in an effort to more effectively reach help, BT had optimistically boosted the power output to his Emergency Beacon as high as it would go.  He hadn’t anticipated such a long wait, however, and twelve hours later the added boost had rapidly reduced his batteries down past their auto recharge level, while still, they waited. He was now operating on borrowed time.

He'd kept Jack asleep most of the remainder of the day. The Pilot was wrung out and exhausted both physically and emotionally, and with his growing concern regarding their rescue, as well as Jack’s state of mind, BT had decided it was better to simply let him rest in blissful ignorance.  Now, as sunset drew near, the Vanguard had carefully extracted himself from beneath his slumbering Pilot, taking great pains to ease out of the chassis cockpit without disturbing him. He knew he needed to work quickly to see that Jack had at least minimum provisions to survive as battery power steadily drained away,  before he shut down completely, so he ventured out alone, leaving Jack behind secure within his cockpit while he sought fresh water.

 

Worries niggled.  How long could he keep Jack alive in his current state? How much water and rations could he procure for his Pilot, and how long - though this he had a generally good idea of - did he have to do so? What psychological effect would be had upon his Pilot should he slip into stasis before the Militia arrived, leaving Jack essentially alone in distress.  Had the Militia even received his signal? Would they be able to locate them even if they had?

What if he failed?

BT had long ago decided he couldn't bear to lose another Pilot the way he'd lost Captain Lastimosa, and had since established a worst-case-scenario plan should he be faced with calamity once more.  This terrible option now loomed on the edge of his processor like a bad omen, demanding unwarranted attention...

     Yikes.

     He pushed down his darkening thoughts with savage force, reminding himself he had a mission: _Protocol 3._

     Jack would be fine.

     They would be fine.

 

By the time he'd located, traveled to, and collected enough water to fill the two standard-issue self-filtering portable cisterns all Titans were equipped with, and returned, night had well and truly fallen. He didn't mind the darkness - he didn't see like humans did after all and the lack of daylight meant almost nothing to him - but he hoped Jack had remained asleep and well. He was doing a lot of hoping, he realized, especially for Jack.

BT was downright maudlin with his spiraling thoughts when he returned to his own chassis and hopefully slumbering Pilot, but he again adamantly stuffed the worries and the dark mood down into a deep pocket of his programming where they would be inaccessible by Jack. He opened the canopy slowly and clambered up to find Jack mostly alert, his eyes dark and glittering in the blue and green lights cast by BT's internal consoles.

"Good evening, Jack," BT said, keeping his voice soft.  He liked being more open with Jack, liked that he could allow himself the expression he was capable of.  He wished he'd shown him sooner.

"Hey, bud," Jack whispered back. His voice was hoarse from misuse.  BT climbed the rest of the way up, stowing the water where Jack could easily reach it, and, giving the Pilot's temple a gentle bump with his sensor array, began the somewhat difficult task of re-situating himself.

There was some fumbling, a lot of shuffling, a few bumps and gasps of pain from Jack, and even one breathless, embarrassed little laugh, but with due effort, BT was back in the pilot seat with Jack nestled against him once more.

"This is... this is nice," BT murmured but even as Jack sighed an agreement hurried to add, "I mean... _this_...not the rest of it." He gave Jack a gentle squeeze for emphasis and Jack chuckled softly.

"I know what you meant," Jack reassured him.  Of course BT didn't wish for him to be injured, or for them to be stranded in the wilderness. BT nodded, nuzzling into Jack again as he did so, and let his Pilot feel his affection.  Jack sighed, leaning into him for quite some time, but then spoke up, his voice soft. "You're worried, aren't you?" It wasn't quite an accusation, and BT could feel little more than tired resignation from Jack as he spoke, but he hedged anyway.

"Worry is a human sentiment," BT said, hoping to dodge a proper answer.  Jack snorted softly.

"BT." He almost sounded like he was ready to laugh, and if BT had been capable of frowning, he would have.  "I went from definitely feeling your concern yesterday to feeling no sign of it today. I know you haven't stopped caring so you've hidden it somewhere and the only reason I can think you'd do that is because whatever you're feeling is strong enough you feel like I shouldn't see it."

BT fell silent, stunned and even mildly annoyed to have been found out.  He’d always admired how clever Jack was, even in his darkest hours. It was several seconds before he nodded.

"Yes.  I am worried," He admitted at last.  "I do honestly believe my concern is premature, but I am beginning to prepare for...less than ideal turns of events." He was watching Jack closely, carefully monitoring his thoughts, but the Pilot's mind was clear and calm - a tremendous change from the previous forty-eight hours.

"That's fair," Jack said softly.

"Foremost and most pressing, though hardly dire, is the issue of batteries," BT went on cautiously. The first tremor of distress rippled through Jack's mind and BT had to resist forcibly quelling it, knowing that he couldn’t shelter his Pilot from everything, even if he wanted to.  Jack huffed out a soft breath like he'd noticed the Titan's impulse but said nothing. "At current power consumption rates, by approximately this time tomorrow I will be rendered inoperative."

He watched Jack battle the fear down, his heart rate and his anxiety spiking as a horrible gouge of cold dread speared into his gut, making BT physically cringe ever so slightly in sympathy. "It is not death, nor irreversible, Jack," BT reassured him, careful to keep his thoughts placid and his tone level for Jack. "But I will be unable to provide you company, nor any physical assistance.  My hope is that the Militia is on its way and we will be back with our people by then, but please be prepared should you have to wait a little longer without me."

     He could hear Jack swallow, and watched sadly as the Pilot’s face twisted as he balled up the gumption to nod in grudging acceptance.

     "Okay, BT," Jack whispered.  His voice, like his heart, shook.

     "Okay," BT echoed.  "Now no more of that," he went on, letting the heavy topic drop and folding a little more snugly around Jack, cradling him close.

 

Another night passed.  Anxiety prevailed.

BT had used the last of his chassis’ power reserves to recharge the Stalker frame one last time that morning, and the Vanguard’s interior was now dark.  Another evening approached and there was still no word from the Militia. BT had spent his day, as always, focused on Jack. Keeping his Pilot comfortable, distracted from his worries, and in as good of health as possible given their circumstances were the Vanguard's top priorities, and, until now he seemed to have been relatively successful in his endeavors.

 It was starting to take some finagling.

 Jack was exhausted, scared, in tremendous pain even when he was fully medicated, and genuinely and reasonably depressed, and it didn’t take a doctor, or BT’s considerable medical database to tell. Jack had quickly lost what little interest he'd had in food and water, and BT was hard-pressed to get the man to partake in the bare minimums of either. Luckily, while Jack could be stubborn, BT...was stubborner.

 "I could simply override your facilities, commandeer your nervous system and use your body to eat it for you..." He'd offered, as Jack sneered at the half-eaten ration bar left from the day before. The comment had been one of BT's darker attempts at humor, and previous such comments had earned at least a giggle from his equally morbid-humored friend, but this time Jack had only sighed.

 "That sounds nice… Yeah. Why don’t you drive me for a while..."

At Jack’s eerie, defeated tone, BT had genuinely considered just that.

More and more, as the day had passed, Jack had grown increasingly detached, and as sunset fell, and BT received his first low-power alert, the Titan had grown far more concerned than he cared to acknowledge.  Jack's outlook was growing increasingly desolate in the face of losing BT’s desperately needed companionship. The trend did not bode well for his wellbeing.

 

BT had to do _something_.

 

 Carefully hiding the shocks like pain as his programming bucked and thrashed against him for it, the Titan thought up a lie.

 "Good news, Pilot," He rumbled softly, only minutes before his second alert.  He had maybe another thirty minutes of power at most. "Our SOS has been received: reply ping detected.  It may be that the response appeared delayed due to distance. I suspect the Militia is already well on its way."

 Jack lifted his head from where he'd had it rested on BT's shoulder, and blessed the bot with a brilliant, achingly sweet smile. He gave no indication of suspecting a fib, genuine joy and relief flooding out through the Link, and a shred of relief soothed BT's worries, just a little.

 "That's great, BT," Jack breathed, still smiling. Some of the color seemed to return to his face, and he remained upright where he sat for the first time all day.  BT wished he could smile back. Jack must have caught the unguarded sentiment across their still blown-open Link, because his expression softened, then grew bittersweet.

 "How's your battery holding up?" Jack asked at last, his face turning glum again, and BT was decent enough not to point out how the Pilot's voice had hitched as his throat closed on the words.

 "Shut-down eminent," BT admitted. Jack's face fell even further, and BT pulled him back against his chest, hugging him. "Do not be afraid," BT assured him.  "Help will come, and you and I will reunite shortly thereafter." In truth, he didn't really believe his own optimism any more, but Jack _needed_ hope. Jack sank into the embrace with a sigh, nodding against the armored plating beneath his cheek.

 "Okay, BT," he whispered. He _was_ afraid. BT could feel it as strongly as his own fear, but Jack valiantly tried to stay brave.

 "Please be aware," BT went on, rubbing Jack's back and shoulders soothingly, "That it may feel as if the Neural Link has been severed, when I go offline.  It has not, and though I will not be able to reach you again until full power is restored, know that I am still with you." He paused for emphasis. This, at least, was entirely true, and a fact he was confident in.  "Understood?"

Jack was quiet for several long seconds, thinking it over.  BT knew he didn't like this prospect of feeling entirely cut off but would understand why, and he was clearly glad BT had thought to warn him.

"...Yeah."  Jack wouldn't look at BT, his eyes locked downward where the stump of his arm rested in his lap.  He'd complained of fresh pain that morning, and BT worried there might be infection, but the concern seemed so insignificant against the bigger backdrop of whether or not they were rescued at all that he had brushed it aside.  The damages done could be repaired in the right care.

Jack would be fine.

They would both be fine.

He gave his Pilot another firm hug, and then held him close for several long minutes.  At last, he began to carefully arrange items in the cockpit for optimal access for Jack, popping open the canopy just a crack to let in fresh air and light, and then at last let his arms drop so that the empty Stalker frame wouldn't restrict the Pilot once it lost power.  

 

It was time.

"Time is up, Jack," BT whispered, dismissing one last final alert almost flippantly. He felt Jack's stomach take a tumble, and could see his eyes start to glass up. "Don't worry, my absence is temporary," BT reassured once more. Jack nodded and turned, awkwardly hugging BT a bit, and the Titan gave him a little nuzzle for his trouble. "I'll see you soon, Pilot," BT murmured and, as Jack pulled back, the frame went dark, sagging back slightly where it sat.   
Jack blinked, stunned.  He had not expected it to be that abrupt. Perhaps neither had BT.  His breath caught up in his throat and horrible, icy panic made his chest ache.  No amount of warning could prepare him for what he'd just witnessed, and even though he knew better, even though he had been expecting it, knew that it wasn't how it looked, he grabbed one of the robot's slack arms and pulled.  BT looked for all the world to have dropped dead where he sat.  
"BT??? ...BT?!"

In the dark of the lifeless cockpit, Jack could see the gentle green-blue glow of BT's Datacore, still lodged at the back of the Stalker's neck, the light dim but still a clear sign of life. Jack gasped for air, sucking it in as his chest spasmed, and he shook, his eyes locked unblinking on that glimpse of the gentle blue glow in the darkness.  "BT?!" He cried his friend's name several times, unable to compute anything else, the Pilot desperately chanting the mantra to himself, trying to convince himself of the truth. _BT's here... he's not gone...he's not gone._

BT was gone, he was sure of it. His chest squeezed and hitched with panic. Jack punched it down savagely, gripping his stump arm in his remaining hand and clenching, desperately trying to distract himself with the pain. It only made his head swim and his stomach lurch and with a gasp, he let go again.  
No. No he wasn't gone. He was fine.  
They were fine.

 

The space in his mind where BT had been for the last three days was cold, empty.  He searched for the tiny ember of warmth that was what remained of BT's presence there, but his mind had blurred and he couldn't see it. He looked and looked but his ears were ringing and all he could find no matter where he looked was an empty void.   
He'd left him.  
Unable to choke back the panicked terror any longer, Jack screamed.

  


Alone in the dark of BT's cockpit, time changed.

The difference between minutes and days blurred. Encapsulated in loneliness and despair, separated from his people, his one true friend, and even the sunlight beyond the mostly shut canopy, Jack seemed to cease to exist.

He didn't mind.

The void was looking friendlier and friendlier.

 

Jack cried through the night, in the wake of BT's departure, weeping away his pain and the feeling of overwhelming isolation and hopelessness, and by morning, he was dried up, wrung out, and shaking with exhaustion. Eventually, sometime midday the next day, sleep overtook him.

He didn't wake again until the following evening.

By then, he felt terrible. His eyes burned and his head throbbed, surely from crying too much, and his mouth was dry and his lips parched.  The stump of his severed wrist was throbbing something horrible, and the skin felt hot above the bandages.

Infected, it would seem.

His ears rang faintly, Jack going woozy from thinking too hard on his horrendous injury.  His imagination got the better of him as he envisioned the wound red and oozing, or worse, rotting up his arm. The thought of facing that on top of everything else, of potentially losing _more_ of his arm, made his head swim.  He felt queasy, and while he considered a sip of water, his stomach did a terrible flip, so instead he sank back, breathing hard.  He was terribly thirsty, but he would just wait a little until he could move again without feeling sick. He closed his eyes and surrendered to the dark fog hazing his vision.

The sliver of light through the crack in the canopy doors came and went without Jack noticing.  Too many hours passed before the hazy veil lifted somewhat. His entire body ached. His legs cramped and his guts felt twisted in knots.  Had his infection spread to his insides, he wondered. He tried to reach for his canteen but every time he bent down for it he blacked out.  Eventually, no longer thirsty, he left it alone. He could get water later. He twisted in his seat, fumbling one-handed and backward, gasping with effort as he wrested BT’s Datacore from the back of the Stalker’s frame.  He trembled, his vision swimming as he smiled down at the gentle blue light cradled between his hand and the space under arch of his ribs. He missed BT so much already. He was on his way to passing out again, but Jack fought off unconsciousness for a few more minutes as he soaked in the sight of BT’s core, the eerie, eye-like lense casting a soothing light over him.  He felt like he could stare into it for eternity.

He had no concept how long he'd been alone, but he could see yellow light through the ajar canopy door.  He had no idea it was actually his fourth morning. He was hot, stiff and achy. He considered climbing out into the daylight but couldn't move. He was terribly weak. _I'll just sleep for a little bit longer first..._ he thought, and, curling BT a little closer against his emaciated body, Jack closed his eyes.

 

" _Jack.._."  Jack cracked his eyes back open, smiling blearily. He loved BT's voice.  It was his favorite source of joy, reassurance. It was safety and a bond that reached deeper than he'd ever imagined.

"BT..." He rasped the name, looking around but he couldn't see his friend.  He could't see anything but as long as BT was there, he knew he'd be fine. He was safe.

" _Do not be afraid.  Your jump kit can take that fall._ "

Jack was falling. But he wasn't afraid.  Fear left him, and all that remained was the pillowy embrace of BT as he soared into freefall.  Jack smiled softly as he leaned back, unbothered by the searing light of what he supposed was the Ark rising up from below him, and closed his eyes.

He was fine.

 

BT clamored to himself, able to detect in horrifyingly vivid detail what was occurring with his Pilot, but he had no way of reaching Jack as his charge slipped into blissful delirium.   _No. No no no!  Come back! Stop!_ This was exactly what he had fought so hard to prevent.

Not again.

It was happening again.

Another precious, _beloved_ soul lost in his care.

It hurt.

It hurt terribly; unlike any pain BT had ever experienced. He embraced it, soaked it in and reveled in it as he watched helplessly as Jack slipped past the point of no return.  

It would not, BT vowed, happen a third time. _Do not be afraid..._ The Protocol was never meant to be used this way - the intention was to be a last ditch killswitch in case a Militia AI fell into enemy hands-  but BT maintained access to it, and even as little more than a mind in a Datacore, he was equipped to trigger the failsafe. _Wait for me, Jack, if you can..._

 

Unaware of his peril, Jack Cooper happily sighed out his last breath.  

 

Alone in the empty cockpit, BT's Datacore suddenly went dark moments later.

  


xx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. That happened. This was a hard one, and I'm fairly certain given my usual happy-ending MO that this was not the Part 2 you were expecting. I don't feel ashamed in saying that a big part of the delay in finishing this fic was due to my attempting to avoid this outcome, and actually, the Out of the Pan/Into The Fire series actually started as one attempt at a continuation of THIS story, but alas, it had already written itself and it wasn't going to exist any other way. 
> 
> I have this weird impulse to defend myself on why I wrote this, and expand on my perspective of this, but I'm going to leave it be. All I'll say instead is,  
> Stay hydrated, kids. 
> 
> More happy stuff later, I'm sure. :)

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo...I have no idea if there's gonna be more of this or not. Maybe. I have a lot of thoughts on where it could go from here and I suppose I'll just have to give it time to see if it's gonna come out.


End file.
